The Fuck-Nothing Knowledge

I've made many a vow in this process, even so far since the re-launch. One of the most recent was not to weigh myself except on official weigh-in days.
You know the result of that? It's that I know precisely fuck-nothing about what tomorrow's result will be.

Am I anticipating greatness? Fuck, no. The plans I had came to practically nothing this week - I dis some walking, but one thing I'm sadly learning is that the orange Disappearing Shoes might look cool as all-get-out (Disclaimer - they probably don't, but I think they do), but hey damn well cripple me when I try to walk proper long distances in them. Six miles sees me cringing in pain and practically unable to move for the rest of the day. So clearly, there's some rethinking needed there.

Consistency of exercise? Notsomuch. Consistency of calorific regulation? Notsomuch. Not exactly stupid, either, but the absence of any kind of weighing vigilance appears to have loosened my strings a little too far this week. So I have no idea what the Nazi Scales will show in the morning. Do I think they'll probably show me back in the 18s? Hell yes, without much of a shadow of doubt. How far do I think I'll be in there? I don't know, I have precisely fuck-none in the way of insider information to vaguely hint to you.

Do I have much time to fret about it? Not really - am off to London in the morning for a two-day trip, including a fabulously interesting conference on Wednesday, on how the brain works. Just call me the Disappearing Riddler, bwahahaha...
It behooves me of course to look the fuck after myself on this trip, and not be a complete and utter dickwad when faced with the temptations of what is for me now an extended stay in the twinkly-lit capital.

Here's a fun fact, that probably nobody knows. Last time I went to London for an overnight, as far as I recall, was the time my phone got nicked at Hammersmith tube station. Along with every card I owned, and my train ticket home. And do we know why I was going to Hammersmith station? Don't think anyone currently reading the blog has the pedigree or the endurance to remember this, but I was trying to get to a stall that was responsible for a lot of my early big regains of weight - a stall that used to exist at Paddington station, so I could gorge every time I went there, on chocolate coated nuts and yoghurt covered fruit and suchlike wonders. They scaled the company back, so now Hammersmith is one of the only locations in the city. And I was going there, as well as to Hammersmith Starbucks, when I was left bereft of every method of currency I owned. I was going there to gorge on all that stuff.

This will so not be happening this time around. At least, not for that reason.
What does the morning bring? Let's see. I really do have more time this week to devote to the Disappearing than I had last week...honest. There will be focus, and dedication, and discipline...and bloomin' walking boots!